ue
scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at
the thought of such genius gone to pot. To use it as a passport to
card-tables and gin-bottles! McClintock wasn't having any guests;
at any rate, he had not mentioned the fact.

Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's
head--that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. His own
peculiar genius--a miracle key to the hidden things in men's
souls--had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. As
the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable
end--death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away,
the past, once so full of promise. And, decently as he could,
McClintock was giving the man the boot.

There was, it might be said, a double illumination. But for Ruth,
he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably
damned. The Dawn Pearl. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was
alone.

These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. From the window he
saw _The Tigress_ faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was
coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. Still, he was
puzzled because McClintock had not spoken.

Presently McClintock came in. "General inspection after lunch;
drying bins, stores and the young palms south-east. It will be hot
work, but it must be done at once."

"All right, Mr. McClintock." Spurlock lowered his voice. "You are
giving that chap the boot rather suddenly?"

"Had to."

"Somebody coming?"

"Yes. Top-side insurance people. You know all this stuff is
insured. They'll inspect the schooner on the way back," McClintock
lied, cheerfully.

"The Wastrel seemed to take it all right."

"Oh, it's a part of the game," said McClintock. "He knows he had to
take it. There are some islands upon which he is not permitted to
land any more."

At luncheon, preoccupied in thought, Spurlock did not notice the
pallor on Ruth's cheeks or the hunted look in her eyes. She hung
about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve
timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which
refused to rise to her tongue.

He patted the hand on his sleeve. "Could you get any of the music
last night?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful! It's an infernal shame."

"Couldn't ... couldn't I go with you this afternoon?"

"Too hot."

"But I'm used to that, Hoddy," she said, eagerly.

"I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't
polish